


Consideration

by foxymandy3100



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Healthy Relationships, M/M, cw: drinking, not canon complicit, working through trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:09:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29887821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxymandy3100/pseuds/foxymandy3100
Summary: Martin tries to deal with the aftermath and emotional toll of his mother's death alone. Jon isn't having any of that. Martin gets the comfort he needs as he works through his trauma.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 33





	Consideration

**Author's Note:**

> This is based of a roleplay I did with my beautiful fiancee and love of my life who plays Jon opposite my Martin. Nearly all of Jon's dialog in this fic are hers. Thanks for your help and being my inspiration, baby. I love you to the moon and back.

Today was not a normal day, was what Jon thought when he woke up. It was normal for Martin to be away at work before Jon was even awake but what was not normal was the note on the kitchen countertop. 

  


"Good morning, My love,

There is breakfast in the fridge for you. I have some business to take care of today and will be home late. Don't wait up for me. I love you with all my heart." 

-Martin

  


Jon read the note several times before putting it down and fetching his breakfast. He was curious, as per usual, and quite a bit confused, but he had to get ready to work himself, so he simply decided that he would ask Martin about this mysterious "business" of his when he returned that evening. 

  


But today was not a normal day. Martin did not come home from work on time; he did not come home at all. Jon waited up past his usual bedtime until nearly eleven o'clock at night before finally giving up waiting for Martin and heading to bed. Jon woke up to the sound of the bedroom door closing. 

  


"Martin, where have you been? It's nearly two a.m." 

  


What answered him was a giggle and a large body nearly flopping onto the bed. Martin crawled over and kissed Jon, and Jon found himself reeling away. Martin practically reeked of alcohol. 

  


"Have you been drinking?" 

  


Today was certainly not normal, though, in all fairness, it may not have been "today" anymore. Still, the point remained that Martin was a social drinker. He didn't drink alone. Jon noticed a few things at once, the remarkably strong smell of alcohol, the fact that Martin was in his only suit, the nicest outfit he owned, and the fact that said suit had dirt and grass stains on the knees and rump. 

  


"Martin, what the hell is going on? are you alright?" 

  


There was a long pause, the air stagnant in the room as Martin's blithe smile fell, and a frown replaced it. He got up, turning his back to Jon, and headed toward the bathroom. 

  


"It's late, Jon; We can talk in the morning. Sorry for waking you." 

  


With that, he was gone, retreated into the bathroom, the door shutting behind him with a finality that made Jon's heart sink into his stomach. Why was Martin suddenly blocking him out. It didn't make any sense. He had been just fine yesterday; they hadn't fought. Had Jon said something thoughtless? Martin could be sensitive, but he was also a master of passive aggression. Jon was reasonably sure if he had hurt Martin's feelings, he would know by now. 

  


Jon laid there in bed, listening to the shower run for an immeasurable amount of time before the squeak of the knob turning off alerted him that Martin had finished his shower. He waited patiently, eyes closed, for the dip that would come with Martin crawling into bed. Maybe he didn't want to talk tonight, but that wouldn't stop Jon from cuddling him through whatever was bothering him. 

  


But the pressure on the other side of the bed never came. The door to the bathroom opened, and the door to the bedroom closed, but Martin was not there. Jon shot up in confusion. Martin had left him in bed  _ alone?! _ What the hell was wrong with him that was warranted that kind of treatment? Jon was done with this, it was nearly three in the morning, and he wanted some bloody sleep. They were going to talk about this, and he was going to drag Martin's shapely ass back to bed with him, and they would cuddle or so help him there would be hell to pay. 

  


Jon got up and grabbed his bathrobe before heading to the bedroom door. His hand was on the doorknob when he paused; He could hear noises from the living room. A sound he recognized and wished so terribly that he didn't. The sound of someone muffling sobs into a pillow. His heart ached instantly, and all thoughts of giving Martin a stern talking to for leaving him lonely were immediately forgotten. 

  


Jon tiptoed his way to the edge of the couch and sat down on the carpet there, sliding his hand up into Martin's. Martin tensed, and Jon felt a hand gripping his heart at how hard the other was trying to hold back his cries. Jon leaned over and tenderly pressed his lips to Martin's knuckles. 

  


"You don't have to talk, Martin. I just wanted you to know I'm here. I've got you. You don't have to face this alone." 

  


A choked-off sound broke free from Martin, and he forwent the pillow in exchange for pulling Jon up onto the couch with him. Jon sat down and let out a soft sigh when Marting buried his face into his stomach, large arms wrapped around him as he clung and worked through whatever was hurting him. Jon ran his fingers through his hair in the way he remembered his own mother doing for him when he would cry as a little boy. He could only hope it was as comforting for Martin as it was for him. 

  


They sat for a while until Martin's sobs quieted, and he was laying there in Jon's lap, sniffling once in a while. He finally looked up Jon and gave a half-hearted smile of appreciation. Jon smiled back, impossibly fond of the man in his arms. 

  


"Are you ready to talk about it?" 

  


Jon asked. Martin gave a weak nod and cleared his throat. 

  


"Today is the anniversary of my mum's death." 

  


Jon felt something cold and hard settle in his chest. Martin didn't talk about his mother very often, but whenever he did, Jon found his dislike of the woman growing stronger. He had never wished ill on the dead like he did this woman. She had made Martin's life hell, destroyed his self-confidence, and made him ashamed of how he looked to the point that Martin dyed his hair religiously, to the point that he would have panic attacks if he grew facial hair or could see the roots of his natural color. She made Martin hate himself, and that was something Jon would never forgive her for. 

  


"So you went drinking to forget?" 

  


Martin quietly shook his head. 

  


"No. I went to Devonshire to visit her." 

  


Martin sits up, righting himself on the couch beside Jon, staring at his hands that clench and unclench on his lap as he thinks of how to put his thoughts into words. 

  


"I'm a selfish person, Jon. I could say that I went to pay my respects... but honestly i was just being selfish. I waited until she was dead Io get what i wanted..." 

  


"What do you mean? What did you want?" 

  


Jon watched Martin's expression drop with self-loathing and wished more than anything he could keep any pain from touching Martin. He deserved only joy and love after so many years of loneliness and despair. 

  


"she can't refuse my visits now... can't throw away my flowers. I know she wouldn't have wanted me there, but I went anyway. I spent the day sprucing up her gravesite and telling her all about my year and you and how happy we are, knowing she would've hated every second of it. she was probably rolling in her grave beneath me." 

  


Martin let out a bitter laugh, continue his dressing down of himself, and Jon was so stunned by the way Martin saw himself that he couldn't bring himself to interrupt.

  


"I'm such a selfish person... I went there so I could pretend I was a dutiful son who was taking care of his mum... so I could pretend just for a little while that she ever--" 

  


Martin choked on his words, trying several times to finish the sentence before he managed to squeak out two words that made Jon's heart clench in his chest. All Martin had ever wanted was for his mother to love him, and that was the greatest injustice she had done him. Jon reached out and Took Martin's hand in his own, gently massaging at his knuckles with his thumb. 

  


"Martin, you spent the entire day maintaining the grave of someone who didn't give you the time of day in life. That's not selfish. In fact, it's the very opposite of selfish." 

  


"I spent the entire day with her voice in my head searching for even one shred of compassion. thinking of past memories for a time when she was proud of me or told me that she cared and I... I can't think of any. how terrible is that?" 

  


Martin glanced over at Jon, his brows furrowed as he tried desperately, even now, to think of some good memory of his mother. Perhaps a time when she praised him for his grades or being responsible around the house or looking after himself. But there was nothing. No memories like that to be found. Nothing he had ever done had been good enough for her. Now he understood why. 

  


"There must've been a time she loved me. she wouldn't have had me if she didn't want me, right? so why can't i remember? Why can I only remember her scowling at me... telling me that i'm worthless, useless, a waste of space, clumsy and foolish, and too trusting. If she was really as bad as my memories say, then why did I care so much? Why did I want her to love me so badly if she was that horrible? Jon, I don't understand..... why do I still care so much? Why does it still hurt? it's been two years, I'm -... I'm not alone anymore. I have you, and I'm loved and... I have a good life now. So why does this still hurt? Why do I feel like I've been carved open and left hollow... why do I feel like I deserve it? I didn't do anything wrong... " 

  


Jon could see how badly this was tearing Martin apart. How much these questions had haunted him in the silent hell of his own mind, and it ached to know. How long had Martin been torturing himself with these inquiries? How long had he anguished over his mother's lack of love and blamed himself for it. How many times had he excused her behavior by saying he was a "bad son". How long had this suffering gone on for without either of them understanding it for what it was. Jon took a breath and wrapped an arm around Martin's aside, pulling him in to rest against Jon's shoulder. 

  


"You care because, for the longest time, you two were all each other had. You gave up friends and a childhood to look after her. She was your entire world, and she never did the same for you. It understandable that knowing that hurts you. It's understandable that you would still crave her love even after she's gone. You loved her, even if she didn't love you back. " 

  


"It's not just missing her or longing for good memories that worries me... it's the other part of me that--" 

  


Martin takes a breath, his voice lowering to a whisper as he bares a part of his soul that still shakes him to the core. 

  


"I hate myself for caring, but worse... I hate the part of me that  _ doesn't _ care.... the part that knows... that whispers, deep down, that her death was one of the best things that ever happened to me; that I'm better off without her. how can I even think to call myself a "good son" when I think things like that?"

  


Martin buried his face in his hands, and Jon wrapped both arms around him to hold him closer. It was something Jon had thought before, but he knew it was hard for Martin to let himself have thoughts like that. He wasn't sure what he could say to make him feel better, so instead of saying anything and chancing putting his foot in his mouth (despite his best efforts, he still wasn't so good at this "comforting" thing), he simply sat there and held Martin in his arms. He rubbed his back and cooed soft reminders of how much he loves him and how good of a person Martin is to him. 

  


"love, you  _ were _ a good son. You gave until you had nothing left to give; you worked, until /she/ decided to leave, to take care of her. Her ungratefulness has nothing to do with how good you were. It says more about her than it does about you." 

  


Martin shook his head forlornly. 

  


"She left because she couldn't stand to look at me. Because every time she saw my face, she could only see the man who broke her. I gave her everything, and she still couldn't see me." 

  


"That's not your fault, Martin. You were a child. You couldn't change how she saw you. It gave her no right to treat you like garbage. You can't help the face you were born with... which I find quite beautiful by the way and would not change a single thing about, thank you very much." 

  


Martin snorted quietly as Jon stuck his nose a little and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Maybe Jon wasn't great at consoling people, but apparently, he wasn't too bad at it either if Martin was laughing. 

  


"Martin, you didn't ask to be the one left behind to pick up the pieces, and you certainly didn't ask to be demonized for it. You were a child, trying his best to take care of someone who didn't want to be taken care of, or, at least, not by you. You didn't do anything wrong, and, even if you had, it certainly wasn't anything near deserving of the way you were treated. Please, don't blame yourself for her mistakes. You are more than worthy of being loved."

  


Martin rubbed away the last of his tears and pressed a kiss to Jon's cheek with a warm smile on his face. He took Jon's hands in his own and shifted himself so he could face the other, looking into his eyes with the all love he had always ached to give away on full display, and all of it was for Jon now. That thought nearly left the man reeling. All of that love, and it was his now. Well, good, that woman hadn't deserved it anyways. 

  


"Jon, thank you. You are, by far, the best thing that's ever happened to me. I love you so much, and I can only hope you'll let me show you how much I love and appreciate you for the rest of our lives." 

  


Jon cocked a brow as a grin spread over his lips. 

  


"Why Mr. Blackwood, is that a proposal I hear~?" 

  


Martin flushed red from his chest to the tips of his ears. 

  


"I-- I don't have a ring or anything on me right now, but uhm.. I.... d-do you want it to be?" 

  


Jon watched him adorably flustered, fumbling over his words, and warmth coursed through him as if the flood gates had been torn down the moment the other smiled. 

  


"Well, If it is, then I would certainly say 'yes'"

  


He chimed, watching Martin bounce his leg excitedly as he lit up like a child at Christmas. 

  


"Much as I would love that, if I'm going to propose, which I am, eventually, I'm going to do it the right way. So, not now... but soon." 

  


Jon grinned and opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a loud yawn, followed by a stretch. Martin laughed, full-bellied and impossibly found before gently caressing his fingers over Jon's cheek. 

  


"Bedtime, my love?" 

  


"Yes, I do believe so. it's only Four-thirty in the morning." 

  


Martin snorted before standing and offering his hands to Jon to help him up as well. Maybe the day wasn't normal, but at least one thing hadn't changed. The moment Jon found himself curled in bed, wrapped in the warm safety of Martin's arms, he was out like a light. 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments give me life, let me know what you think!~<3


End file.
